Vanilla Twilight
by Charlie'sLostVampire
Summary: The second he was gone, Ron wanted to go back. Not to help find the horcruxes, but for Hermione. Just Hermione.


Three days. It had merely been three days since Ron Weasley abandoned his best friends, and he already felt like the biggest arse on the planet. How could he have just upped and left them like that?

How could he just have upped and left _her_ like that?

It was no secret that neither Ron nor Hermione would have made it through the summer after their sixth year without each other. No one was coping exceptionally well with Dumbledore's death; it seemed… too impossible. How could someone they had trusted, someone who had given them so much guidance and taught them so many life lessons just be… gone?

The answer to the question was easy, really; Snape. Snape had pointed his wand at their mentor, Snape had cast the most unforgivable of all Unforgivable Curses, and Snape had been the one to essentially kill Dumbledore. But that didn't make coping any easier. If anything, it had just made Ron more uneasy. The idea of that man being appointed as Headmaster of Hogwarts when they knew what he had done, and of his sister going back to school there in the fall…

The only thing that had distracted him from his worries was Hermione's nightmares, and his own. It seemed odd that they'd been through so much terror and seen so much death that they were just now starting to be haunted by it all. But they also supposed it seemed a bit fitting. Dumbledore had been a bit of a security blanket; protection from You-Know-Who. But, with him gone… the only thing capable of stopping him was Harry. As much as they both trusted their best friend to do what he had to do, the severity and truth of the situation only added to their worries and made the nightmares that much worse.

Ron had no idea Hermione was suffering from nightmares as badly as he was. He thought he was the only one being plagued with images of death eaters torturing and killing the people he loved. The most frequent of all his nightmares was him pushing through the thick crowd by the Astronomy Tower to discover everyone ogling at a body, only it wasn't the Headmaster's. It was a certain bushy haired brunette, her brown eyes wide and lifeless, and each time he'd wake up panting in a cold sweat from the horror of it all.

One night in particular, he'd woken up with a jolt to find Hermione standing by his bed, looking worried and uncertain as she looked over at him.

"You… were yelling for me," she stated quietly, and he could have sworn her cheeks were pink, but the dark tended to play tricks on one's eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he'd insisted, his own blush flaring up to the roots of his fiery red hair. "I… er… just a nightmare is all."

Hermione was silent for a long moment before hesitantly sitting beside him on his bed, peering uncertainly up at him. "You too?" she'd asked, and he'd furrowed his brow. "Have yours been about-?"

"Dumbledore?" they both chimed at the same time and Ron nodded, frowning a bit.

"You've been having nightmares?" he asked, scooting closer to her on the mattress, slight worry shining in his crystal blue eyes which seemed to shine like the Weasley pond at midnight in the darkness. "For how long? How bad? Didn't you tell-?"

"Ginny?" shaking her head, Hermione pulled at her messy hair with obvious embarrassment. "I didn't feel right waking her. Plus, I thought it would make me seem silly…"

He'd opened his mouth to object, to tell her that nothing about her having nightmares seemed silly, but he closed it just as quickly. Hadn't he just been stunned stupid at the mere idea of Hermione Granger having a bad dream? Not that it was a bad thing for her to, or that she wasn't allowed, _or_ that it made her seem silly, it just seemed… odd. She was always so strong-willed, brave and set firmly in her ways; he thought nothing could scare her enough to haunt her sleeping hours, much less death eaters. She could literally hex most of them in her sleep. Finally, realizing she was awaiting some form of a response from him, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"It's not silly," he assured her. "I'm certain none of us have had a decent night's sleep every night since it happened… and we probably won't even after this is over. It's… a lot to take in, Hermione."

Giving a faint bob of her head, she took a deep breath. "It feels silly," she confessed, pulling at her dressing gown. "I don't usually have nightmares like these; ones that seem so… real. Usually they're just stupid and trivial…"

Shaking his head, he moved closer to her still, their arms brushing in the process. He felt his cheeks redden more in the darkness. "Like what?" he'd asked her, his voice cracking a bit at how close he was to her. He hurriedly cleared his throat to make it seem less obvious that she'd been the cause.

"Silly things," she repeated. "Slytherins taunting me, being chased by the basilisk, my hair being so awful one day that I couldn't fit through the portrait hole…"

Ron laughed a bit at the last one, quickly sobering when he caught sight of the glare she tossed him. "Sorry, it's just… silly. You were right."

Huffing, she crossed her arms. "I told you so."

Gently bumping her arm with his own, he shook his head as he looked down at her. "We've addressed the silly nightmares, but... the ones that aren't so silly? How bad are they?"

Shaking her head, she pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them slightly, getting a vacant look in her eyes. Most frequent was her nightmare where she was dangling for her life from the Astronomy Tower, and Lavender Brown was leering over her, taunting her for her bookishness, claiming that it was no wonder Ron had never liked her. Then he would appear beside her, and pry her fingers from the stone ledge until she dropped to her death, forcing her to wake and stifle her screams.

She couldn't exactly tell Ron about that, though, could she?

"It's… well, I have nightmares about the Department of Mysteries," she lied easily, her eyes absently flicking to the scars still scattered on Ron's arms from their experience there. "Do they ever hurt…?"

Noticing her gaze, but not her change of subject, Ron glanced at his arms and gave a brief shake of his head. "Not anymore. They haven't for over a year now…"

Nodding briefly, she tucked her hair behind her ear, doing her best to avoid his gaze. If he saw the way her eyes looked, he'd know there was more to her dreams than she let on. She couldn't let that happen.

"I should go," she'd announced quickly, rising to her feet. "If Ginny wakes and finds me gone, she'll worry…"

She'd started for the door and just pulled it open when Ron's voice, ringing with uncertainty and obvious nervousness, stopped her.

"Mione? You don't have to sleep down there, you know… if the nightmares are as bad as you say."

She turned to find him patting the spot on the bed beside him, the blankets turned down. She knew in her heart that it had nothing to do with _her_ nightmares; it was his. Ronald Weasley was afraid to sleep alone, but he was too proud and pigheaded to admit it; so typically _Ron._

"You're sure?" she asked, absently giving in. The idea of sleeping in Ron's bed wasn't as awful as she would have thought a few years ago; it actually seemed quite welcoming. The smile he gave her at her words wasn't too bad, either.

"Of course," he assured her, scooting over a bit so she had more room to join him.

She did so, and he found himself relaxing a bit as soon as the blankets covered her. As long as she was here, with him, she couldn't end up dead. He wouldn't wake to find his family surrounding her bed down in Ginny's room after some terrible tragedy had happened. She was safe.

"G'night, Hermione," he'd muttered as she closed her eyes, and she'd smiled faintly in response.

"Goodnight, Ron."

That had been months ago. Their nights together had grown more frequent with Harry's retrieval approaching, and there were even some warm nights where they would simply lie in his small bed, neither of them able to sleep. They'd talk for hours about what they were worried about and assure each other that it would be fine. Ron would say something impossibly foolish or crude that would make her laugh, and then she'd cut herself off just in time to scold him for it. Finally, Hermione would usually drift off first, and Ron would hover, protective and wide awake beside her, watching the sun rise out his window. The transfer from inky black to welcoming blue was truly beautiful. In the years to follow, he would compare each sunrise to the end of the war; the transfer from darkness holding power over the world, to light prevailing and life continuing on.

But, at the moment, he found himself watching that very same sunrise, only he was alone. He'd let that bloody locket convince him that he didn't matter, and he'd left Hermione with Harry in a fit of jealousy. He hadn't registered her note of panic as he was doing so, or the tears in her eyes until he was already gone. He'd felt guilty as soon as he could think straight again.

Everything was so empty without her. It was like, somewhere along the way, his only purpose in life had become making Hermione feel better, just as she did for him. Her mere presence always made him feel better. But, without her… he was nothing. He had no purpose. He was simply a shell of the person he was when she was around. He'd grown so used to falling asleep with their fingers tangled together that he couldn't sleep without her. In short, Ron was miserable.

Finally, deciding there was no point in just lying there like a dolt, he slid out from under the blankets and crept through the hall, careful not to tread on a loose floorboard and wake Bill or Fleur. Honestly, the woman could hear a pin drop. She was almost as bad as his mum.

Arriving at the door successfully, he tugged on his trainers and stepped out into the bitter cold morning, snagging a sweater from the rack by the door before shutting it behind him silently. He hated how cold it was; he hated that Hermione was probably out in it somewhere, her cheeks and the tip of her nose pink from the wind with no one to warm her up. He supposed that wasn't entirely true; she had Harry. But the jealous part in him that refused to go away kept selfishly hoping that she _was_ cold, rather than curled up in the arms of his best friend. It should be him holding her, not Harry.

He dimly reminded himself that it was his own stupid fault that he wasn't holding her now, and he heaved an irritated breath, a puff of mist running through the air when he did so. His life was utterly boring without Hermione; he'd even resorted to reading a book since he got there. He knew she'd be proud, if the circumstances were different. At this point, he figured he'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again.

If he ever _saw_ her again. The thought sent a shiver of fright down his spine, and he swallowed roughly. He hardly ever turned his radio off; he told himself he'd know if she was dead. For one, the wizarding world would be in utter disarray, for if Hermione was dead, it wouldn't be long before Harry was, too. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said they couldn't get on without her. No one could. If anything were to happen to Hermione Granger before her proper time came, so much would go unfinished. House elves wouldn't be given the rights she'd managed to convince him that they deserved. Muggle-borns would continue to be taunted if someone didn't prove they could do truly great things. The term "mudblood" wouldn't one day be having people fined for its usage.

Ron wouldn't be the only person who would suffer if anything happened to Hermione Jean Granger. They all would.

He couldn't help the smallest of smiles pulling at his lips as he thought of her unshakable determination. It was only a matter of time before she really did make a difference in this world, starting with the house elves. Ah, those bloody hats she knitted for them; Merlin, her heart had been in the right place, and he silently thanked Dobby for loving them as much as he had. Hermione was truly brilliant, and he couldn't help wanting to kick himself for not seeing it sooner. For not seeing it the second he met her. For ever hurting her… for _leaving_ her. He wanted her back, badly. He wanted to figure out where they were and apparate there and grovel at her feet for forgiveness. He wanted a second chance that he _knew_ he didn't deserve.

He just wanted Hermione.


End file.
